2 Girl on the Net writes a brilliantly clear outline of the issues involved in the Presidents Club abuses. It’s not about prudery: it’s about dishonesty, abuse of power, and disgraceful, unacceptable working conditions.

4 From Remittance Girl, here’s this agreeably complex, and hot-as-fuck, discipline/love story. It was posted seven years ago, so clearly I’m either a stalker or just so far behind the times I’m even likely to think today is still Saturday:

There is a word for having a fetish for fire: pyrophilia. It involves setting, or watching, fires for sexual arousal and gratification.

Fire is dramatic!

It’s supposed to be different from pyromania, which is compulsively setting fires for other, non-sexual, reasons.

Me, I’ve been a psychiatric nurse, and I’ve studied psychology as part of an undergraduate degree. So although I’ve seen how the diagnostic system works in practice, I’m not any sort of expert at all.

Still, I know there’s evidence that for various reasons (academic publishing pressures, the fact that getting conditions into the DSM makes it easier for patients to claim financial support for treatment, among others) psychiatrists are – perversely – rewarded for finding new diagnoses. So behaviour that has a range of motivations may get labelled as if the motives can be separated into, for example, sexual and non-sexual.

Flames of passion, and so forth, didn’t become cliches for no reason at all

Still, a very small number of people have had their genitalia hooked up to various devices measuring sexual arousal, and responded more strongly to images of fire than to images of an attractive person of their preferred gender. The fire is hotter than the hottie.

Still, in most cases it seems that there’s a range of motives when someone starts a fire, especially one that places lives and homes at risk.

One motivation is hostility to the people who are likely to suffer from the fire’s impact. Even if they’re unknown, the arsonist may think of them as “rich bastards”, or “adults”, or whatever. They may also be a hated racial minority.

As well, there’s anger, especially in young men, that they’re not getting the things – female company, money, fame, respect, etc – they think they’re entitled to. There are other motives.

At the same time, fire is warmth, it’s energy, it’s wild, unpredictable and free. Though it can be tamed. Those are sexy qualities.

Guess who likes fire? Jerusalem Mortimer, that’s who

If I’m with a girl on a beach, and I pile up some driftwood and make a fire, and we sit together staring at it, the chances that we’ll have sex are as close to 100% as makes no difference.

Setting a safe fire, and enjoying it together, is one of the basic human sexual scripts.

And from hotties to flames of passion, burning love and fires of desire, so much of our sexual language uses fire images and metaphors. We’re just… drawn to fire.

I’ve got a bdsm-flavoured fire story of my own to tell, I mean a true one. I’ll write it in the next couple of weeks.

The previous instalment of this story is here. But we finished with Cash having girl on girl sex kisses with another girl on the dancefloor, then racing her off into the Women’s toilets.

Because Delores didn’t go in after them, we’re going to switch to Cash’s point of view for the next half hour or so of this story.

Cash in the Women’s

Cash had a starry-eyed girl in tow, hand in hand. The wide-eyed girl had never done anything girl on girl before, but music, dance, alcohol and Cash’s irresistible energy had turned her on, massively, and she was very keen to experience whatever happened next.

Cash had liked Arethusa, and fancied her. The knowledge that she was invited into Arethusa’s and my bed, some time early in the morning, or later that night, was exciting too. But in the meantime she had a pretty girl, obviously submissive, wanting her attention. So she grabbed the girl’s hair at the back of her head and kissed her again.

There were other women passing, so the couple pashing near the door were a bit on display. A sort of tasteful centerpiece.

Club Bento isn’t the sort of place where anyone, including straight women, will mind the sight of two pretty girls making out. So the starry-eyed girl got compliments for being a good girl for her Mistress.

Cash never even asked that girl’s name, and never knew it, but she did know that the girl was finding the compliments mildly humiliating and hot as fuck, all at once. So she upped the ante and pushed her up against the wall. She flipped up the girl’s little tartan skirt, and pulled her panties down. The girl closed her eyes. Once the panties were at her knees, Cash pushed them down to her ankles with her boot, and kissed her again, with her hand on, and then partly in, her cunt.

Club Bento isn’t a sex-on-premises venue, by the way. If a bouncer had found them they’d have been thrown out for putting the club’s licence at risk.

But the bouncers didn’t go into the loos, or the seating in the dark where the girl next to me had just sucked her Master off, and I was using Arethusa as my cunt-puppet, still at the edge of coming with three of my fingers in her, but not allowed to come. Or make a sound.

Cash stroked the girl, who was now wild-eyed and trembling, until she was nearly ready. At the last second she dropped to her knees, and finished the girl off with her tongue and lips, getting her face quite thoroughly wet. Eventually the girl moaned, then shouted, her arms flat against the wall as if she were being crucified, and she fell forward, onto Cash’s back, moaning, stroking her and calling her mistress.

But Cash was done, for now. She stood up, kissed the girl, face shiny-wet with her fluids, and helped her with her panties. She said, “You’re really cool! And fucking pretty! But I’ve got to dance now.”

Cash left, and the girl followed her out: she was a bit dazed, and she wanted more of that sort of thing. And she, the girl, bumped into her Master, who’d seen her go into the toilets with another girl, and knew something good was happening that he wasn’t part of. But now the two girls were out, and one of them was his submissive, and there was another girl with her. He knew he had a threesome lined up.

His idea was on these lines, except he’d need a bigger shirt

But he didn’t. He was a little softer-bellied than Cash liked, and he had unfashionable hair. So this dom spanked his submissive, standing up, for going off without him. And then he said to Cash, “Come with us.” He was using the command voice to someone who hadn’t submitted to him, and for Cash that absolutely confirmed his complete unfuckability.

The scene in the toilets may make Cash seem a little heartless, but she’s not that at all. She was just living in the moment. So she knew that if she turned the guy down, he’d take it out on his girl, and she’d have a horrible night instead of the brilliant one she’d been having until then.

She remembered seeing Delores, just before going into the toilets. “Yes, that’d be great,” she said, politely. “I’ll just ask have to ask my Mistress for permission.”

I woke up about one in the morning on Monday, and out my bedroom window there was this:

So I pulled clothes on and went outside. Even in the five-ten minutes since I woke up it had spread. And it was closer, now about 50 metres from my house. The firefront now looked like this.

I went off and hooked up my hose pump, and put the inlet in my swimming pool. It can pump out water at the same volume as the pump on a firetruck. Hooked up to the pool it can keep on pumping at high volume for 45 minutes. That should be enough for me to cover my place, and the neighbours on both sides, wetting the houses and the bush around them thoroughly, and then take care of fires started by flying embers.

I primed the pump, started the engine, and… no water came out.

Fortunately the Rural Fire Service people turned up with about ten trucks, and got to work.

So I ran around, making sure the neighbours were okay, the firies had the access they needed, and stuff like that. I’m not the hero or even a hero; lots of people in the hood were doing stuff like that.

I went back to the pump, and finally got it working. So the professionals were now tackling the fire, and I just patrolled the perimeter, ready to douse any local fires started by embers blowing in the wind. By about four in the morning it was mostly out.

I got back to bed about five, adrenalin and exhaustion battling it out. In the morning I went and inspected the scorched earth. There’s a very clear line between the fire and the green. That line is about 45 metres from my bedroom window.

Yesterday, I had a chunk of, well, meat, pulled out of my face, to get biopsied to see if I have cancer. I don’t think I do, by the way. But a biopsy is a significant assault on the body, so all I’m capable of writing, at the moment, is this bit of factual reporting.

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I take my loved slave Arethusa to Club Bento, a bdsm nightclub. I meet an ex-submissive of mine, Delores, who is showing the club to Cash, who turns out also to be an ex of mine.

(If you spend enough time being a really dedicated slut, as I had been before Arethusa, then the chances of you having had sex with at least two or three people in any given nightclub in your city starts to approach 100%. The same applies to bdsm sex and bdsm nightclubs.)

Eye contact? Not _always_

Arethusa and Cash eye each other off, and it’s agreed, non-verbally, that Cash, Arethusa and I are bound for my bed, some time in the early hours of the morning. But Cash goes off dancing, then Delores goes looking for a dom to bruise and fuck her that evening. Arethusa and I go and get lovey-dovey in a dark area where there are seats and, in our case, champagne.

But now this story will follow Delores for a while.

Now read on…

Delores still had her glass of champagne, because she wasn’t really much of a drinker. Still, it made her look elegant, and gave her something to do with her hands while she looked around.

Bedroom eyes. Leather panz. What more do you want?

A young man came over, dressed in tight leather pants that squeaked when he walked. His name was Marty, and he’d wanted to be her Master once. She’d been interested, until he’d tied her up and flogged her far harder than she’d agreed to. When she’d told him to stop, he’d said he was punishing her, so safewords didn’t count. When he released her, he told her she’d been a good girl. She’d slapped him hard, and told him to fuck right off.

But here he was, with one hand on her shoulder, turning her round. “Hey, Delores!” He made to kiss her.

Arethusa isn’t afraid of men, because she’d never been with one who’d wanted to harm her. But Delores has had a different life. She isn’t afraid of men because she’d experienced the worst, the very worst, they can do. She said, “I haven’t told many people what a pathetic, sick little fuck you are. I need to fix that. And if you don’t get your hand off me and fuck off in two seconds, you fucked-up little coward, I’m calling a bouncer.”

He went from scowl to smile in about a second. “Jesus, Mary-Jo, chill out for god’s sake. I’m just sayin hello.”

Mary-Jo was her given name, which she’d rejected. Marty was insulting her by using it, but in a deniable way. He was a passive-aggressive, whiny little sadist. When the two seconds were up and Marty was still there, she shouted, “Hey, Ron!” Ron the bouncer, not a small man, headed her way.

Marty snarled, “Crazy fucking bitch” and disappeared into the crowd in the dark.

Ron arrived. “”Hey, Delorry, you ok?”

“I’m ok. Keep an eye on that little shit who was pestering me. And…”

“Yep?” Ron, a sensible man, remembered Delores, liked her and trusted her judgment.

“He’s a non-consent player.” Ron bristled. They give bdsm, and doms in particular, a bad name. But he said nothing, waiting. “If you see him getting lucky with anyone, it’d be a favor to all womankind if you fucked up his night.”

“Ok. Done. Thanks for the tip. I don’t think he’s coming in here again. I mean, he can do what he likes, but he’s not getting in the door.”

“Good.” Delores tiptoed and kissed him on the cheek. He clutched the spot, as if overcome. He smiled and, as he was walking away, turned and blew her a kiss.

Scuse fingers. (And no orgasms allowed.)

So that was a good outcome, she thought, but Marty had fucked up her mood for a bit. She looked for me, but I was kissing Arethusa with my hand under her tutu, and Arethusa was squirming nicely. She wasn’t allowed to come, and she was wondering about begging, with another Master and his slavegirl sitting so close. I slipped a third finger into her.

So Delores looked for Cash, instead. She turned around (I hadn’t seen her), and went to check the dancefloor.

Girls, eh. What can you do?

And so she saw Cash on the edge of the dancefloor, kissing another girl, with the girl pushed a little back and Cash’s hand on her arse. Cash had kissed many girls; the other girl hadn’t. This was new for her: twenty-one and never been kissed. Not by a girl, anyway. But it was an intense, sex kiss.

Delores, for all her many virtues, doesn’t really see that girl-on-girl can be a real thing, so she approached them instead. But before she’d got in range, Cash had grabbed the girl’s hand and was pulling her, she following very willingly, into the women’s toilets.

She was on her hands and knees, looking at the sheet below her. “I mean, I’ve been wanting to try this. I’ve wanted to get my ass fucked for ages.”

I smiled and hoped she wouldn’t see. If I said something that impersonal to her, there’d be hell to pay. “Well then, it’s lucky I’m here.”

She didn’t realise I was joking. She said, quickly, “And I think it should be you. You… Well, at least you know what you’re doing. I think.”

“I’m honoured. No, seriously. And I want you. Right now especially your ass.” I took her hand by the wrist and put it on my cock, to demonstrate the point. “I absolutely want to fuck your ass.”

“O”. She stroked gently. A hard cock is, after all, generally a sincere compliment. Then she tightened her grip so she could feel the blood, beating, throbbing for her. It’s a perfectly ordinary cock, mine, but there was no doubting its enthusiasm at that moment. She nodded. Obviously I didn’t have any doubts.

“I guess I want you to do whatever you like. So long as you do it hard.” But she had one more thought. “Still, remember… this is my first time.”

I looked at her with disbelief, then quickly got that expression off my face. Anyway, she meant she was trusting me, and that’s always an aphrodisiac. Anyway, it was time to stop thinking. I took one of my condoms, ripped the packet open with my teeth, and rolled the thing onto my cock.

There’s a speech I usually make at that moment, about how I’d hate it if anything hurt her, apart from good hurts that don’t count, so she should tell me at once if anything didn’t feel good. And she can set the pace, as slow and gentle or hard and fast, as she felt comfortable with. Then I cover saying no, safewords, and a few related topics. That’s what I usually say. But intuition can tell you odd things.

This time I just smacked her bottom again. She yelped, not displeased. I used the command voice to tell her to keep that ass up and get her knees further apart so I could fuck her. If she didn’t I’d smack her till she did as she was told. This was bullshit, but she nodded seriously.

She spread her knees as wide as they’d go, which lowered her ass a few inches closer to the bed. Buggering her in that position would be very comfortable. For me, at least. I said, “perfect, girl.” I reached under her belly to squeeze her cunt. She sucked her tummy in and spread just a little wider, to give me better access.

She was utterly, soppy wet to my touch. I want to roll her onto her back and kiss her cunt. Then fuck her. But that wasn’t the agenda, and it was time. So I growled, “Keep still,” so she had something to obey, and pressed my slippery left forefinger and index finger against the tight little bud of her asshole.

Her asshole, now holding two of my fingers up past the first knuckle, was extremely tight. It took a moment for her little muscled ring to yield and open. Still, she was very thoroughly lubed. Once my fingers were inside her, I could slip in to the second knuckle without too much difficulty.

She held herself tense, ass still enticingly in the air, and her face was set. She was withholding judgement but expecting this to hurt.

I said, “How you going? This ok?”

“Uh.” She shook her head. “I hadn’t expected it to feel so intimate. It’s very… invasive.”

She was staring at her pillow, focused on her sensations and not on me, except for two of my fingers.

I smiled. “Yeah. You don’t have many secrets left, from the man with his cock up your ass.”

That was nonsense too, like a lot of things I’d said that night.

But it seemed that she liked feeling invaded, and that would intensify that feeling. She only said, “Ohh.” And she left her mouth open after she’d said it.

I squeezed more lube into my hand, coating my fingers and inserting more into her ass. Then I slowly fucked her with my fingers, letting her imagine how my cock would be, once I was demandingly inside her. The reality of the fingers, and the proximity of my cock, seemed to be good, sensual things, and her noises were soft and appreciative. But eventually I withdrew my fingers. She seemed to mind their absence.

I coated the condom liberally, especially around the head of my cock. “You can tell me to stop and pull out any time. Or to slow down.”

Her mouth quirked. My solicitousness didn’t fit the experience she was having. She was enjoying being brutally fucked. By a brutal fucker. She said, “I know that. And I’m fine. Don’t fuss.”

Not so long ago she’d been warning me that this was her first time. It seemed she’d decided she could handle this without any more warnings. I smacked her upper thigh, hard, and she settled back, her arse up and presented. I took my place kneeling between her knees, my hands on her hips, and my cock nosing urgently against that lube-slicked little star. A dark star.

I lined my cock up against her asshole with my hand, and kept my cock steady while I pushed against her. After a couple of second’s of resistance, there was that sudden, dramatic opening, as Qing’s rectal muscles yielded, and I was inside her. Just the head of my cock at this stage, being held by a tight and reactive little ring.

Once my cock had taken its first entrance of her I slowly pushed a little further forward to make sure I couldn’t slip out of her ass by accident.

Then I moved a little deeper still and her ring tightened on the shaft of my cock.

She trembled under me, on her bed on her hands and knees, with most of my weight on her back and my cock half-buried in her ass. I was riding her a little higher than I had so far that night, and that seemed to come with its own symbolism attached.

The higher angle, not to mention the tightness of her ass, was a new sensation, too. In sex a small difference is a huge difference, if you’re paying attention.

Her tight little tube held my cock firmly and softly. If it was heavenly, and it seemed so, then I was in heaven.

Many submissive women don’t like anal. And plenty of women enjoy being fucked up the ass but don’t care about bdsm at all. I know that, but I also know that that moment of give, when a woman opens and yields up her ass to my cock, always feels like submission. At least to me. That’s part of what makes anal possession of a woman feel so hot and so savage, even though the dom is (or should be) taking a lot of care not to really hurt her. She’s submitted, or at least given the dom that illusion.

She was puffing as if she’d run a mile. A sex mile, with me riding on her back. She still couldn’t manage to produce words, but she nodded. I smiled at her. She made the kissy face, so we were good.

Because I needed to, I pushed my cock further into her, revelling in every movement. She grunted (“oh, that’s happening”) but she seemed happy to be buggered. At each moment I could feel her start to resist I’d stop and withdraw a little, as slowly as I could, and thrust forward again.

Each movement took my cock a little further into her, and withdrew a little less. Until my belly pressed against the silky warmth of her ass, my cock deeply and completely inside her. I wanted to tell her I was pleased with her. I said, “Ah fuck, girl.”

That was probably about as sensible as whatever it was that she’d just said, but at least I hadn’t screamed mine. Then we both forget about words and breathing, and fucked in silence, until I stopped holding her hips and dropped my hands to support my weight on the bed.She fell forward onto her breasts and shoulders, arching her ass up at me. Tightly joined, she put her hands on the backs of mine and held tight.

I started to speed up because her sweetly tight ass and her own arousal had taken me past the point where I could choose whether or not to come. Qing stopped still, suddenly, pushing herself hard but slowly against my cock, getting it as deep as possible.

I could feel contractions inside her. Then she rocked as fast as she could, making high-pitched squealing and gibbering noises.

She’d have fallen flat on the bed once she’d come but I wouldn’t let her. I held her ass tight up against me and fucked her until I’d come too. Then we lay together, with my arm around her and my cock still hard inside her. For a long time there was no reason to move or speak.

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